Just This Once, Simplicity Would be Nice
by A Shadow's Lament
Summary: Fate and chance… Words used by those who daren't accept it is their hand that controls their future. For a woman who refuses to be the pawn of some scripted fate, what can she do when factors beyond her control take place? Post-game, Robin returns, but not to the life she knows… Rated T for the romance which tends to slips into my stories without consent.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings once again, everyone. ****Playing the game for the hundredth time, it struck me again how confusing it would be to be Robin and hear Chrom and Lissa speak as they did on that very first meeting. (I'm surely not the only one who held their DS whilst going, "What on Earth?!"…?) And so alas, this was born and then morphed into something that I just rolled with.**

**First time using present tense, I've decided I hate it. But hey-ho, bit late to go back now…**

**All the same, I do hope you enjoy it.**

**_Fire Emblem Awakening does not and never will belong to me in any way shape or form. I simply enjoy making characters dance to the rhythm in my head. What can I say? It's pretty catchy. As for the image, the artist has my many thanks and it is a shame I found the work though Google. _**

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_ Just This Once, Simplicity Would be Nice. _

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It is warm; pleasant in the heat that touches her chest and comforting to the aches she can feel. Aches that are not quite pain, for the sensations are too weak to be defined as such, but certainly something that leads to thought. How odd that she fails to remember what the cause is; this peculiar dullness that she is certain is present in each of her limbs. It is stranger yet when trying to think, all she can recall is comfort and warmth – much akin to her situation at present – but somehow different. As if the themes of serenity had swept past the layers of skin and muscle and into the deeper threads of tapestry that is her very soul.

She feels a frown twist her lips, bemused at how such a feeling of peace can be remembered and yet be tainted by the throb of aching. With memory granting no clue, she turns her attention instead to locating the source of her discomfort. But much to her discontent, the mind cannot always easily interpret the signals the body provides. A fact further reinforced when sight is unable to confirm what it is that the mind is feeling and touch is currently unavailable.

Again, her lips twist. Why can't she simply reach out and touch? She retains enough of her perception to feel her arms are intact and experimentally she twitches her fingers, pleased to feel a stir of material under her digits. Her fingers move again, the blades of grass tickling the tips and she discerns with realisation that her back is to the ground.

_Why am I lying down though? _she thinks to herself and no sooner is the conjecture thought when memories barge into her mind, overwhelmingly so. Some are bright, both in clarity and in the swell of emotions that are sprung upon her: the feeling of immense love for the man she sees waiting for her at the end of the aisle she is walking along: a new born babe cradled in her arms, gratitude blossoming in her bosom to see her babe's eye bare the brand of Naga. The sensation of a kiss upon her lips and the shivers that course her body as a hand trails across her hips: and the smugness of finding her lover's weaknesses as he moans underneath her – both enjoying the satisfaction that comes from the exploitation of them.

The shapes twist and change and it is then she sees faces. One belongs to a boy of blue hair, imbued with her tact and strong with his father's courage. The other to a girl with eyes that speak of unimaginable loss and hurt but refuse to be defeated by such things. She sees the kind smile from a woman with a heart as large as Ylisse and a sly grin from a man whom is addicted to all things sweet.

She hears the cheerful banter between comrades and friends alike and the silent laughter shared at a private joke. She watches smiles pass in understanding and the tears shed for one they had all loved. She gasps suddenly, horror pitching the sound as she watches a great woman fall, her death only the beginning of the ill fate that had then yet to come. She feels grief clutch her heart as she sees again the bodies of fallen friends she had been unable to save and the howl of lovers who weep over the loss.

And then, she sees herself. Only it is not her but rather a mirror copy, their lives swayed by decisions alone and yet both as different as the sky is from the ground. Her hand rises in her memory, her thunder striking where it was intended and all she can think of is relief, pure, sweet, unadulterated relief… Until she sees his face. The hurt, confusion and –she is sure of it now- disappointment on his features is reflected on those around her, the hurt more pronounced on her son's face and terror clear in her daughter's frantic rush to her side. Not even the reassurance that she has done the right thing can quite stop the tears that spring to her eyes.

_Tell the others my last thoughts were of them… M__ay we meet again in a better life… S_he watches his hand stretch out for her as he begins to sprint, tears he had always refused to shed now flowing unbidden as he begs her to stay, pleads for her to remain.

_I'll always love you, Chrom…_

The scenes dissolves as her body fades, a hand rose in a final goodbye, and then in her memory, everything returns to its blackness, leaving only her gasping with the realisation. Battles, the Fire Emblem, Grima, Lucina, Morgan…

_Chrom… _

It dawns upon her then that her eyes are closed, shut against what she now realises to be the warmth of the sun. That the grass she feels under her hands is also under her neck – she can sense it prickling the skin uncovered by her hair. And she thinks with a laugh that her aches are good, that they represent something she has been missing for so long: A physical body.

Logic is squandered by the giddiness of having at long last returned, but not quite hampered as reason theories that this may not even be real at all. But no, she has waited too long for such a moment, for such a day when at last she could return home. With a firm resolves, she goes to open her eyes...

"Chrom, we've got to do SOMETHING!"

And immediately halts her progress, instantly recognising not only the voice, but this very moment too. Wonder stills her heart as a nameless worry begins its descent into her stomach.

"What do you propose we do?"

Oh gods. Tears well up in her eyes, from happiness or from that worry that is now thick in throat, she doesn't know. It's all so familiar, _so very familiar_, but instead of the welcoming warmth she had expected from hearing their voices, it is dread that holds her. Returned she may be, but _what time have I returned to?_ She can't help but let her thoughts run amuck, unable to halt the feeling creeping into her chest and winding around her lungs. Do they know who she is? Do they recognise her as wife and sister in blood, or… she doesn't want to think it, but she does… Is she a stranger once more to them?

She knows what she will see when she at last opens her eyes; those bright teal eyes and compassionate smile and the handsome face framed by locks of royal blue. She almost doesn't want to open her eyes to what she knows is awaiting her…

"I… I don't know!"

…But she does and is not at all surprised to see two faces smiling down at her. As young as she remembers them to be from her last memory and wearing the very clothes she had first ever saw them in. How quickly hope can diminish when there is nothing for it to hold onto, leaving nothing but emptiness where its presence had once filled. No armour decorates his body and arms; she is still dressed in the yellow of a cleric rather than the flowing green robes of the sage she had become.

"There are better places to sleep on the ground, you know."

_I do know_, she wants to cry, _but it never stopped us from stretching out on the grass to watch the clouds float above until our eyes fell to the call of slumber. Nor did it prevent __us from pushing each other to the ground, laughing and squirming until our energy was no more. _

"Give me your hand."

She can't even speak, only nodding as she once more slips her hand into his, relishing in the warmth and familiarity. She can feel her breath hitch when she realises he won't have any such sensation. His hand lingers on hers and just when she goes to pull back (to run, scream, cry – her mind hasn't quite decided yet) she catches sight of her hand. Skin meets her eyes, but it is not what is there that holds her attention but rather what isn't. Her eyes widen and her gasp is audible to everyone, earning a chuckle from him and a delighted laugh from his sister.

"It… It's…" she mutters, voice hoarse from underuse and pitched by so many emotions that she can't even begin to unravel every one of them. Tears spring into her eyes and she lifts her gaze to look at him, watching as his eyes crinkle in warmth in the same way they always had for her.

"It's over now. Welcome back, Robin."

If he means to say anything else, then it is tossed to the side as he grapples to stay upright from the force of her hug. He can barely understand what it is that she's saying - something about him knowing who she is thank the gods – but it hardly matters. He's just glad to see her again.

At long last, she releases him and allows for air to circulate his lungs once more. Without a moment's hesitation, her arms are thrown around Lissa, the blonde laughing and crying as she hugs back fiercely.

Only when the young princess pulls away does Robin see her pout. "What took you so long?! Two years you left us waiting for you!"

The tactician's eyebrows knit together as she mumbles, "Two years..? Gods, it didn't feel like that long back in the…" she doesn't finish. Trying though she does, nothing of where she was until this very moment comes to mind. Only that sense of enveloping comfort and before that, the terror of that last battle.

"All that matters is you're back with us," Chrom says, smiling. "There'll be many who will be happy to see you back at the castle."

Her eyes light up, thoughts redirecting to the faces she has not seen for so long. Her grin feels foreign as her mouth lifts, but she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to. "Is everyone still okay? That last battle was gruelling to say the least…"

"Everyone is fine," Chrom reassures and her smile widens.

"And Morgan and Lucina? What about our baby girl? Six years old; will… will she even know who I am?"

Her eyes flick between him and Lissa, sure they must think her excitement bizarre – she cannot recall ever acting so sprightly. But instead her grin drops, noting the worry present on both their faces. Her imagination spikes, conjuring images that only a mother's mind tends to think. "Lucina, she is alright isn't she..? She's not… not…" Robin gulps, but even that cannot allow her to say the word.

"No, no! Nothing like that!" Chrom is quick to refute, but still are his eyebrows drawn together. "It's just, well… 'Our baby', Robin?"

"Of course," she remarks, looking at him as though an extra head has sprouted from his neck. Lissa shows no more understanding than Chrom does and so she turns back to him, her head tilted as she says, "Our little girl back at the castle. Hair blue as your own, surprisingly witty for someone so young and nothing at all like her future counterpart?"

He nods. "I know who you mean, but as for the 'our'…"

"She's _our_ daughter, Chrom." Her tone is firm, as though daring him to dare tell her otherwise. But he doesn't answer and her voice begins to wavers as she whispers, "Right?"

It's Lissa who speaks, her voice low and careful, but undeniably laced with confusion. "Robin… Lucina is Sumia's daughter."

"No. No that isn't possible, _I _married Chrom, and fourteen months later, I gave birth to Lucina." Her finger points to Chrom. "She has a freckle on her stomach and a strawberry mark above her right eyebrow. She carries Naga's brand in her left eye and Morgan has the brand on the inside of his wrist."

Chrom just shakes his head and it is with sadness he looks at her. "You didn't marry me, Robin. You said it wouldn't be right given our stations and role to the army. I proposed to Sumia shortly after the defeat of that dastard Mad King and she accepted."

"No, that's not right at all! I know I said those things, but then I told you once the war was done, I would gladly marry you!" Robin cries.

"No, Robin you didn't," Lissa says softly. "You were worried that given your position, if you married my brother, it would give the enemy the upper hand as they could use that fact against you both."

She can remember saying such things; all her excuses to push him away all in fear for who he would really be marrying. Her, or the woman she had seen murder him in her nightmares? And yet, even as she had voiced her worries, Chrom had never cared. _"That brand does not define you, Robin. You are you own person and it is her I love and wish to have at my side for as long as we both shall live."_

Her right hand traces the ring on her finger, the brand of Naga catches the sunlight and reflects it back at her. It almost feels mocking. She knows they are not lying, the coiled knot in her stomach is proof enough, but how else can the ring exist upon her finger? When at last she finds her voice, she whispers, "Then… Then who I am married to?"

Chrom sighs. "Gaius. He asked for you hand not long after my engagement to Sumia. Morgan is seven younger than Lucina, but he bears no mark of the exalt."

"I see," Robin says with a small nod, head facing the ground so they cannot see her tears.

She can see Lissa looking at her, eyes skimming her body no doubt in search for injuries. How dearly she wishes that this could all be explained from having received a blow to the head. But though her body is sore, likely from sleeping on the ground, her head feel physically fine.

"Maybe we should head back to the castle?" Chrom suggests. A hand runs through his hair and the gesture is so familiar to Robin that she sucks in a deep breath to steel herself. She can see the lines of frustration in his posture, and that worried quirk to his mouth. Her hands bind together. She is not his wife, it is not her role to comfort him.

"I don't think that's exactly wise for me to do," Robin says, shaking her head. "I assume I must look exactly like your Robin, but I am not her. I am not the wife Gaius knows or the mother who has adopted the future Morgan as her own child."

"But you're still Robin! You might not be ours, but we just found you – we can't lose you again!" Lissa speaks and glances towards Chrom who gives a heavy sigh.

"You may not be the Robin we met know despite the uncanny resemblance, but even still, I'm not going to turn you away with nowhere else to go. We'll just explain to everyone what the situation is."

"And let them –you both- relieve the pain of losing me again when I find a way to return to my time? No, Chrom, I can't do that to everyone," Robin whispers. She can't do that to herself. Act as a friend and family member to those who look like those she knows, but truly, in this time, doesn't?

"Then where will you go?" Lissa asks.

The tactician lifts her shoulders before letting them slump. "I don't know. I imagine the only one who could answer my questions would be Naga, so Mount Prism will be my best bet," she says and already calculations of distance runs through her head. Not to mention the list of necessities she requires… She would be instantly recognised if she ventured into the town, but she can't deny that she is in need of supplies and preferably something warm in her stomach.

"You're not going alone."

Her eyes snap to Chrom, simultaneously surprised and yet not to see the firm, determined conviction on his features. "I am capable enough, thank you. Besides, if you are suggesting yourself accompany me, then need I remind you of your daughter and wife at home?"

She sees the way his eyes tighten, but still he shakes his head. "No-one can deny me of helping those in need. Besides, need I remind _you_ that I am king?" He smirks and it tugs at her heart, wanting to kiss it away as she would with _her_ Chrom.

"King or not, you have a duty to your kingdom and people. That means no sudden expeditions to give aid to all those you see," Robin reasons. "This is a time of peace, right? I'll be safe with my weapons…."

A sudden dread fills her, an expression not missed by Chrom as his smirk resurfaces. Already she knows what her hands will find purchase with as she delves into her pockets. The Thoron tome is worn; spine bent beyond repair, pages dog-eared and splattered with ink that is both words and random drips. It is the last weapon she owns, her others spent on the battles between Grima's Risen. She closes her eyes. She does not believe in fate, for she is the decider of her future, not some unseen force, but at the moment, she requires something to detest and fate is her pinpoint.

"Seems we'll be heading back to the palace after all," Lissa cheerfully chirps.

Robin can only sigh.

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**Thank you for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I realise that this is an incredibly short chapter and for that I do apologise. I felt like I've made you all wait long enough for something and so I decided to update this, despite the length. I do hope you enjoy it all the same**

**_Fire Emblem Awakening is not mine, nor shall it ever be. I simply enjoy crafting tales to fit my tune._ **

**(Re-edited due to some glaring spelling mistakes. Your hawk eye is much appreciated Strawberry Eggs!) **

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It is under the cover of night that he finds Lissa and himself heading back to the castle. Oil lamps are lit, warming the streets with their amber glow and the most eager of stars are out overhead. The atmosphere is calming but neither King nor Princess give any heed. The former entertains thoughts that bring him an odd type of nostalgia, a one which wonders on those questions of 'what ifs' and 'if only'. The latter is unusually silent, her brow creased with a frown as her head turns back to look from where they came.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Lissa asks, her words punctuated by another glance towards backwards. He doesn't have to turn to know what is that she is looking for. He's been doing it frequently too.

In an attempt at levity, he says, "If this Robin is anything like our own, she would be offended at such a question."

Lissa's mouth tugs at one side, the only hint of a smile he receives before she heaves a sigh. "I know, I know. I just can't help but be worried for her."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Chrom reassures. His head turns back to the inn, the building barely visible now. He knows that she is safe within her room, and yet, he can no more supress the worry in his gaze any more than Lissa can.

Despite her reluctant agreement to agree to return with them to the castle (he suspects she had done so to placate Lissa for the time being), as soon as the Ylisse's city gates had loomed before them, she had stopped. The guards posted outside the boarders were almost statuesque, and from the slightest tilts of the heads, he knew they were scouting for anything out of place. It was strange to feel both praise and regret for Fredrick training them so well, but there it was.

"They'll know instantly who I am," Robin had said, only needing to hold her arms out to accentuate her point.

He had nodded. Never would any threat be posed to Ylisse without himself or another being alarmed immediately, but when wanting to sneak past unnoticed, matters became bothersome. Any clear breaks in the wall's structure had long been filled out and the wall itself was impossible to scale or so he imagined from its towering nature.

"You'll have to give them your 'scary glare'!" Lissa had announced and to both their blanks faces, had continued, "You know, Chrom! The one you give people when they're not listening to you and they instantly shut up. Duh."

He had rose an eyebrow. He knew his expression was never one of easy comfort when trying unsuccessfully to gather everyone's attention… But still he had doubted it was his dubbed 'scary look' that was the key to success. Still, with nothing to lose save maybe his pride, he had given it a shot.

Even as he mused over the events under the night sky, he still wasn't quite sure who had been more surprised that it had worked: Lissa, Robin or himself. A simple nod had halted any questions the guards may have had as the trio had passed through the gates. Respect for their Exalt had kept their eyes from looking too closely at the cloaked woman between the royals. Her coat had been turned inside out, and though it had hidden the brands upon the fabric, a face covered in shadow was always a source of intrigue if not also a wary fear.

One small blip over, he'd held the hope she would continue with them, but it hadn't come as a surprise when she had pointed to the inn. He had stopped, and even though Lissa too had offered words of encouragement alongside his own, Robin had shaken her head no.

"You've both been so kind to me, and I truly appreciate it, but I cannot keep relying on such kindness. You both have families to return to… As do I." She had turned to him then and her smile had filled with such warmth, he had realised how much he had truly missed seeing it. "I appreciate your offer to accompany me, but I'm declining it. Thank-"

"Robin," he'd said, "what kind of Shepherd would I be if I let you venture off on your own?"

"You're not bound by obligations of morality in this, Chrom. Go home to Sumia and Lucina. Your Robin is still out there waiting to be found, so forget about me. It... It will just be easier for everyone."

He'd heard then unsaid "and me too" and had seen the way her chin had dipped closer to her chest. There was perhaps some truth to his friends teasing of his oblivious nature, but it was not fact for all aspects. His status and care for his own reputation should have stopped him from acting impulsively, but at times it was impulse that had saved his life and granted him better favours than planning and hesitance. Robin had gasped when he'd pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and back. For the few seconds her breathing had hitched and she had trembled lightly, he'd feared he'd only made her worse. But then she had stepped away from him, her smile shaky but there.

"I'll meet you here before dawn, understood?"

"You sound exactly like my Chrom… Just as stubborn as I remember." She had smiled again, both sadness and wistfulness tainting its beauty. Finally, she had acquiesced with a sigh. "Even if I disagree, I'll only end up seeing you at Mount Prism anyway."

"Then we're agreed?"

She'd nodded and he'd wanted nothing more than to hug her again but had been held back by her earlier words. Exactly the same as her Chrom… The only difference being the realms they hailed from, it would only hurt her more for him to be so close, but her real Chrom to be so far.

He'd watched her until her frame had completely disappeared behind the door. And had immediately regretted leaving her alone. It was a small reassurance to be certain than Robin was strong, but not enough to quell his uneasy mind.

He barely notices when they enter the castle grounds; his head has been nodding to the posted guards without his accord. With a mind that is still caught in the musings of the night's events, it is his feet that take charge – long adapted to the twists and twines of the route to his bed.

Lissa departs from him then, her murmured goodbye met with an equally disheartened grunt. He just doesn't quite know what he should be feeling. There is happiness in the mess he calls his emotions, to see Robin alive and well, but whenever it sparks it is immediately drowned by one simple fact: She is not his Robin. He immediately corrects his error in his mind, _she's not OUR Robin._ Robin is not his to call his own and he is not one whom belongs to her. He sighs. The thought fills him with a melancholy that has been silent for several years.

His feet meet carpet and without intending to (he had just been letting his feet lead him after all), he finds himself outside of his eldest daughter's room. The oak door is laden with embossed butterflies; a girly touch he would never have thought his daughter would like given the grim countenance of her future self. He opens the door, meaning only to check on her and his eyes go to her bed, only to feel them widen when noticing her absence.

"Luce?"

"Daddy! You're back!" a voice squeals and he looks to the window from where it originates.

He only has a moment to register relief before a pair of arms are secured tightly around him. For only being six years of age, the weight she throws behind her hug easily rivals the strength of Vaike. He doesn't hesitate to pick her up, smiling when she laughs. "Now why is my daughter out of bed at this late hour?"

Luce pouts and her delicate features scrunch up. "I was waiting for you. I'm not sleeping when you're not here, daddy."

Chrom smiles. Her teachers of etiquette tell her to refer to him as 'father' for 'daddy' is too common for a princess. He's glad every time she refuses to do so, proud to see his rebellion for proper mannerisms has been passed through blood. "I'm always here," he tells her and her fingers follows his as they point to her heart.

"I know that, daddy." She rolls her eyes and he can only think of two people who ever do such a thing. One her aunt and the other his tactician. He wonders with amusement who taught her it. "But I saw you outside with Auntie Lissa too! Where you looking for Lady Robin again?"

He stills and realising she can feel him do so, quickly masks his features into a gentle smile. "I was."

"But you didn't find her," Luce says, interpreting the sadness in his eyes as the disappointment she is used to seeing.

"Not today," he lies and hates how her eyes drop to the floor. Often he had found Robin engaging in whatever new game Luce had invented for that day, the tactician foregoing research in favour of entertaining the young royal. He had usually stood leaning against the doorframe watching wistfully. With how easily she had engaged with Luce and the contented smile she had given to him when spying him nearby, it had been too easy to imagine the family he wish he had.

"It's getting very late now, Luce, and little princesses need their sleep."

As if to hammer home his point, she yawns. He carries her over to her bed, tucking her in and placing a kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Luce. Now get some sleep – no more midnight waiting for me, alright?"

She nods, blue hair falling into her eyes as she does and whispers good night too. Chrom smiles once more and makes to leave when he is halted by her little voice. "Will Robin come back?"

"I'm no predictor of the future, but I like to think that she will one day."

"Hmm. I hope she will."

Chrom nods and is almost near the door when she starts and stops a sentence, as if debating how to phrase her question. "How come I can still hear talking from the girl who should be sleeping?" he asks with a chuckle.

He is surprised when with a wit he didn't know she has, replies, "Because you have ears?"

Robin's voice echoes through his head, _"Hair blue as your own, surprisingly witty for someone so young and nothing at all like her future counterpart?" _Such a smart tongue is not a trait he believes himself to own and he immediately dispels the possibility of Sumia. He wonders idly how much time Robin spent with Luce.

"What were you going to ask?" Chrom questions, deciding to take a seat on the edge of Luce's bed.

She toys with a piece of her hair, absently twirling it around her finger. "Do you love Robin, daddy?"

"Of course," he replies. "Everyone does."

"No, I mean do you _love_ Robin? Like how you love mama?"

Chrom raises an eyebrow. "What makes you ask?"

"Well, Inigo's mama said that she thinks Inigo and me will get married!" Chrom finds it amusing to see how her face screws up in disgust; he had acted much the same way when the older Lucina had first broached the news. "But she said she said might be wrong. She thinked you and Robin would get married."

"Did she now?" Chrom remarks. Everyone in the kingdom – himself included – had believed the very same thing. He thinks of the Robin residing at the inn and how she had looked at with so much love in her eyes. It fills with him guilt to wish he was her Chrom.

"Mm-hmm! I thinked she was being silly. You and mama love each other!"

"Exactly, I love mama very much," the Exalt agrees and he does. Sumia is good to him, a perfect Queen for Ylisse and a wonderful mother to their children. And yet… Much as he despises such thoughts, he longs for the easy bond with her that he shares so easily with another, to be able to poke fun without worry of causing upset. (Soap dishes he can deal with, tears because a pie wasn't up to standards is out of his league...) And gods, much as he hates to realise it, the more hormone-driven part of him wonders how Robin's confidence and willingness for a challenge would have transposed into other areas...

"But you love me more!" Luce laughs, the sound heavy with the sleep that is making her blinks slower and longer.

Chrom ruffles her hair, watching her mouth form a perfect 'O' as she yawns again. "More than you can imagine," he says, smiling as her eyes close and her breathing becomes deeper and more even.

Even as the sky darkens to an inky blank, Chrom continues to sit and watch her peaceful sleep. He realises he should retire himself, but the guilt in his heart won't allow him to move. He sighs, moving only to sit against the window and knock his head lightly against the pane. His eyes follow the pillar of smoke rising in the distance, knowing the exact building its source lays in and who resides in one of the rooms.

He sighs again. He knows a woman with brown hair will be waiting for him, asleep lightly as she awaits his return but Chrom still doesn't move. He head tips back to the wall as he pulls his knees up to his chest. His eyes close and much though he knows his attempts are futile, still he tries his damn hardest to not wish it was a woman with white hair that awaited him instead.

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**Thank you for taking the time to read.** **Any thoughts are always highly appreciated. **


	3. Chapter 3

**I've come to the decision – I freakin' hate writing in Morgan's perspective. He's so cheerfully optimistic and I'm naturally pessimistic… Of all the hours it took to write this, 3/4 were just sat staring at the screen like "Uhhh..."**

**How I do hope you all still enjoy reading it...**

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Tap… Tap…Tap, tap…

The idle drum of fingers upon the page echoes throughout the small room, the pace rising and falling as thoughts are muddled with anger and calmed by reason. The fingers stop and the room falls to silence once more. The candle's wick is nearly engulfed by wax; a sure sign that he has stayed up far later than intended.

Absently, his fingers trace the scrawls in the margin of the tome, the sharp writing nearly identical to his own. Ink splatters mark the pages, her rush to write her thoughts down clear in the smudges. Morgan smiles, thinking of his own favourite tome that is much in the same state. It would only be a trained eye which would see the sorrow that taints the gesture.

And just like that, the simplest thought is the catalyst for all others of his mother to follow. His head drops and bangs of orange fall in front of his eyes. His eyes cast a wistful glance in the supposed direction of the inn and a frown pulls at his mouth. The tapping begins again, more frantically this time as question upon question enters his mind, the most frequent are the ones which begin with _why…? _

He knows his mother is alive: he'd seen her!

He casts a glance at the chair opposite, its lonely state suddenly not quite as depressing when given the fact it can be filled once again. _Maybe she was tired, choosing to rest before being ambushed with hugs? _But that's just ridiculous! Okay, so his mother wasn't exactly an abundant hug-giver, but surely she'd accept them all the same..? _She could have slept here…_ he thinks and his head shakes in denial - a trait that would have identified him as Robin's son if physical characteristics had not been proof enough.

_Maybe… Well… No. But if she… Nope. But then again…Wait, there's a bath here! _His head drops even further, the collision with solid softened by landing on the book rather than wood. He's the son of the most famous tactician in the whole universe and yet he can't even figure out why his own mother has favoured an inn over her own family. "Some master tactician I am…" he huffs.

The chair tips as he dives up and a hand placed on its back ceases its plan to fall entirely. His father is a light sleeper, likely from his lifestyle, and a clatter of wood against floor could wake a slumbering bear never mind an Assassin. He's not quite sure what he intends to do, but sitting and pondering is hardly doing him any good.

He picks up his own Plegian cloak from the back of the chair. Even though any scent of his mother has long faded with time, he still brings it close to his face before slipping it around himself. Thief though he once was, a Tactician is what he was made to be.

His father sleeps in the room down the hall but despite the soft snores coming from him, Morgan creeps around the table and to the door. Both his parents are light sleepers, a trait clearly not passed to him when Robin had often called him out on his ability to be dead to the world when asleep. Morgan closes his eyes. He will never be anything but grateful for the memories he does have, but he wishes that they weren't so painful.

Side-stepping the floor boards he knows creak under pressure, he slips out the house. It is a simple building; thatched roof, ashen walls and wooden doors but it is warm and welcoming… Or at least, it should be.

He thinks of the offer Nah had given him; a place just on the outskirts of Wyvern Valley. An area she could roam freely in as a Manakete without fear of terrifying any humans, and a place they could enjoy respite in now peace had at last arrived. It sounded like heaven and Morgan had declined. Nah had understood, a gentle smile curving her lips as she'd told him that home would be wherever the heart lay.

Both had known it wasn't in Wyvern Valley.

The moon hangs low in the sky; full and illuminating, the only thing which compares to her majesty is the castle itself. Morgan frowns, staring at the towering structure. His father had once mentioned the suggestion made by Chrom to live there; though in a time of peace in which the offer had been made, a General was always in need of a Tactician and the cooks would happily sate a sweet tooth. It had been Robin who had firmly rejected, her reasons ambiguous but accepted by Chrom. Morgan hadn't missed the look of understanding passed between the two. Gaius had never understood her desire to live elsewhere, still lamenting the loss of pristinely crafted honey cakes. Morgan had wisely decided to keep his own thoughts in his head.

He's reminded of what he'd witnessed earlier this night - the fierce hug he'd watched the Exalt give his mother and the tremble to her body when she had replied to him. He hadn't heard what she had said, crouched behind crates he'd been, but he had seen the way her hands had clutched his cloak almost desperately and the way the prince had stood so close to her, still lingering even long after the inn's door had been closed.

It was a question both Lucina and himself had wondered: Just why hadn't they gotten married? They were the perfect duo in battles, complimenting and supporting one another as though having fought all their lives rather than only four years. They could share hidden jokes or poke fun at something in their past… Morgan never pried on that topic – the blushes suggested it wouldn't be a good idea. They could even pass looks that were vague to outsiders but had each of them nodding in agreement. Any look between his mother and father was usually a warning or one of distaste for some new bribe. His mother had never been one for flattery.

Both Exalt and Tactician had spoken of bonds, ones forged through their own hand, strengthened by trust, and made unbreakable from the challenges they had surmounted. A bond that had paved the wave for endless victories and success over what had seemed impossible, such partnership was flawless.

He recalls the outrage blazing on Lucina's face as she'd so wrongly accused Robin of loving her father. Morgan had actually thought her mad at the time and had wholeheartedly agreed with his mother – any bond with her and Chrom was purely professional. But he thinks again of that hug and her desperation and wonders; _just how far does their bond truly go? _

Morgan turns a corner, retracing the route he had taken only hours ago. It had been approaching night when at last he had been able to pry himself away from Owain and Cynthia. Justice Cabal having advanced to Super Awesome Malevolence Banishing Justice Cabal Heroes, it was impossible even with a heart so heavily grieved to not be swept into their antics. As he had stepped out of their house (sprinting was more accurate a term given the pairs impetus to drag him into another game – consent given or not), he had immediately disliked the dark that had swallowed the streets up into its embrace.

It hadn't been a fear of the dark that had stirred such a reaction but rather an echo of his mother's words. He'd known Robin had had more confidence in him than to be bested by anything lurking in the shadows, but a motherly urge had awoken and needed to be said. Promises of staying safe in his mind, he had taken the most lit path home and had passed close to the inn. Lissa and Chrom's profiles had immediately grasped his attention.

Morgan feels tears in his eyes and hastily scrubs a hand across his face. He knows now where his mother is; that ever lingering sense of dread and fear for the worst should have vanished in the face of his continuous optimism. But instead it only seems to grow and fester, much like a wound that has been left exposed for too long. His head shakes as often it does when trying to dispel thoughts that are not pleasant to think and finds that this worry is not so easily dislodged.

It is not the first time such thoughts have entered his mind, the ones that won't be snuffed by his mantra of "mother WILL come back!" but always he has pushed them to the side. There had always been comfort in envisioning where his mother may be, tending to believe her to be contently waiting until she is at last ready to be found. But now that his mother is here, once again whole rather than the transmuted state he had been thinking of her as, he is engulfed by worries that seem irrational and childish but will not leave him alone despite his trying.

He supposes it is nerves. After all, he has not seen his mother for two years; change is inevitable as too are the consequences from change. But Morgan laughs that thought away. The only things he's ever been nervous of is Kjelle's cooking.

The inn appears into his view, all candles apparently extinguished as no light comes from any window. Again, he is consulted by the scene of his mother and can't help but frown. The memories of his mother show a woman of unquestionable strength and a wisdom unrivalled by even Miriel. (He may be embellishing, but such can be expected from a son as devoted as he.) The one is his head now almost seems to be drooped and sallow, as though life has been sucked out of her.

He stops abruptly, eyes going wide. Gods, what if she's come back as a Risen?! And just as soon as the thought comes, it disappears. He's just thinking stupidly now. The young Tactician chuckles - maybe nerves are getting to him after all.

He continues to walk until the door of the inn is before him, chipped in places and aged with rust around the handle. It's open judging by the click of the handle and he smiles sheepishly; it's an inn – people probably return at good knows what hours. But Morgan doesn't push the door forward. _Hey tenant, I'm looking for my mother – looks like me apart from obviously being older and with white hair – have you seen her? No? Figures she would have slipped in unnoticed. Never mind, I'll go search through the rooms until I find her!_ Yep, real brilliant plan there, Morgan.

His head knocks against the door as he sighs, and then snorts. He's going to have to head back home soon, to pick up the brain he seems to have left behind. For the son of a Grandmaster Tactician and Assassin, he's really doing them proud tonight. A scuttle comes from the other side of the door and Morgan jumps. A moving handle, knock and snort - if he was the tenant he'd be thinking some clever pig was after him… He quickly jumps around the corner, watching light flood the street before a curse is muttered and the light disappears once again.

Morgan slides to the ground, allowing his head to drop onto his arms crossed atop his knees. He sits, idly staring ahead but not seeing particularly anything and only minutely aware of the nightly orchestra. Time passes and he's sure he can hear the soft _lub dub_ of his heartbeat when a shadow passes in his periphery. He doesn't think much of it, but then he sees the figure attached to the shadow and watches as it grows in size. It could be any human; most seem to have retired to bed as so late an hour, but there's always those who linger out. But when he notices the figure is cloaked, he can't help the swell of hope in his chest.

Silently, Morgan slips between the alleyway of two houses and continues to watch. His eyes squint in concentration; looking for the symbols that mark her cloak and remembering that she had turned it inside out. He could just run out in front of her, but Morgan still creeps around buildings and crates. His mother is too wise to not be aware of any followers, but a general woman will probably shatter his eardrums with her scream. But what's life without taking a few chances?

Morgan follows the figure, waiting for the opportune moment where he can approach them from the front. If it's a random woman or man even, he'll keep walking, if who he hopes it is... Well, he's not quite sure what his reaction will be.

The closed-up stalls of the market place come into view, the atmosphere is sombre without the hustle and bustle of townsfolk to disrupt it, but incredibly peaceful. Running ducked low and on the balls of his feet for silence and speed, Morgan ducks behind one of the stalls, distanced enough that the figure is unaware of him

Now in front, Morgan peaks out from behind boxed wares and cannot for the life of him name the emotion in his throat. His mother stands naught but a metre away, her hands searching over different crates. There's only a moment of wonder when she lifts open one of the crates and pulls out a sword. A handful of gold coins are left on the lid and Robin slides the sword through her belt. Morgan blinks, his head shaking and in those few seconds of disbelief (_she stole it! Well, she DID pay for it in a way…) _his mother vanishes from his view.

Morgan shoots up as he spins in a full circle and mutters, "How in Naga's name?!" before he sprints back the way he came. And all the while, he continues to shout out one thing: "Where are you, Mama!"

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_…**Thoughts on the ending? I have the view that Robin would avoid any confrontation as much as possible, but if you do want to see a mother-son interaction, I'll write one. Thank you for reading!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, much as I'd like to say my lateness with updating is due to pondering over this chapter, it wasn't. Working with District Nurses, then in a Nursing Home doing 17 hour days including the travelling, the last thing on my mind was writing. Even then, knowing it was going to be depressing was hardly motivation either... **

**Alas, it's here. Short as per usual, but done! Whilst I'm here, I'd like to thank those who've given this story attention. The response thus far was what got my butt into gear to get this written!**

**(Side note: For those who like to enhance reading with music, for this chapter, my recommendation is "Thomas Newman - The Letter That Never Came.")**

**I hope you enjoy the reading.**

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"Mama! Please, where did you go?!"

Robin pulls herself in tighter, so close that her knees dig into her chest and her face is pressed firmly against her crossed arms. Her hood is drawn over her ears and her hands come up to clasp over them, but the attempts are futile. Nothing drowns out the sound of Morgan's frantic cries and the guilt that drums through her.

Her breath hitches as tears leak from her eyes and in the silence of pre-dawn with only Morgan's distanced yells, the salty drops seem to echo around her. It's not for the first time that she has hated herself so intensely, but the emotions are no less cruel. How can she sit, listening to those broken sobs of her son, crying for his mother when she could be the one to silence them?

But that's just it – he's not her son. Not in this lifetime. Images of her Lucina and Morgan rise to her mind; young adults she has so easily claimed as her own despite not truly being their biological mother. _That's different though_, Robin attempts to reason. True, she may have not been the one to sire the two, but she does not love them any less. She remembers her joy at finding Morgan, that Chrom and her had not only been blessed with a daughter, but a son too.

The Robin of this time would have surely felt that same euphoria, the exact same rush of love for a son that she hadn't even had yet, but couldn't have denied he was truly her son.

The breath she takes in rattles and shakes; made heavy by the sobs lodged in her throat. If the depth of longing this Morgan feels for his mother is anything like she feels for her children, then she feels absolutely horrible. His shouts come again, weaker now than before and her heart clenches painfully. Never has she heard him sound as defeated as he does.

Robin lifts her head and using her sleeve, rubs the tears from her eyes. She can't bear to hear it; that always present optimism crushed by the loss of hope. She's not his mother, not truly, but in a way, how could she be anything else? A Robin, exactly like herself had brought this Morgan into the world, a child exactly like the one she calls her own back home. Personalities alike, features identical, the only trait that marks the two Robin's different is the man they married. Idly, she wonders how that choice has transposed into this realm's Morgan.

Her Morgan had initially found it difficult to remember Chrom and she had known how much that had hurt the Prince. Often he had lamented how awful a father he must have been to have his son forget him. By that point, she had usually hit him and told him to stop being so stupid. The royal blue hair and Naga's brand in his right eye had been proof enough of who his father was, but it was more than physical traits that had really marked Morgan as Chrom's son. The way he would always be brave even if his hands were shaking, how he would never step down from a challenge and the look of doubtless perseverance in his eyes. And – she had made both her guys blush at this – how he would look and act around Nah made her think of how Chrom was around her. The gentle touches, words of comfort and a single look that passed a million thoughts that Morgan did always reminded her or her Prince.

She sighs softly and her eyes move to where she can hear Morgan. But no, she won't let herself think of the differences this Morgan will have. Even with them, in a way, she's still his mother and it is her duty to comfort her son when he is hurting.

Her body moves up to stand and she almost begins to make the first step when she pauses. It is a mother's responsibility to be there for her son no matter what… So where is this time's Robin? Why is she here, going to give comfort a son she doesn't know when his actual mother would be far better suited? There is no reason for her presence here. There is no threat looming over their heads that requires a tactician. Nothing that makes her anymore superior to the Robin that should be here…

Dread drops into her stomach like a lead weight. She is alive and well, but does that mean that this time's Robin is too? Or has something happened in her time and she had been sent to a realm as closest to her own that was possible? She quickly shakes her head to scatter the thoughts, but they still play heavily in her mind.

Just where is the other Robin? And what if her presence here is a mistake? If this time's Robin will return one day, then what purpose here does she have?

Again, the overwhelming sense of longing for her own time wells up and threatens to send her to the ground once more. Her body sinks downwards without her realising, all previous resolve lost to the myriad of emotions that she can't control.

She can't fathom what she is being punished for, but she can think of no other reason for being here than a reprimand. Maybe that's just it – the life she has was not the one she was meant to have. A Plegian marrying into the Ylissean bloodline, she had questioned it when Chrom had proposed to her and she still questions it now. Perhaps Naga has deemed it only right to remove her from that time…? As soon as Robin thinks it, she dismisses it. She does not believe the Divine Dragon has the capacity for such an act.

So then why is she truly here? "Why, dammit, why?" she says to no-one in particular, her head once more failing to knock against her knees.

It is like this – crying into her arms and her shoulders shaking – that Morgan finds her.

She knows it is him before she even hears his gleeful cheer of "Mama!" Even with different fathers, whose professions are as different as chalk and cheese, their footsteps are no different. Light, even, almost rhythmic. It brings a smile – small and fragile but still a smile – to her mouth to wonder if a person's footsteps are hereditary.

Robin can hear him nearing, his run slowing to a walk as even his voice changes from elation to worry. "Mother…? Are you alright?"

Too late for her to run and with a son much too wise to feign a different persona, Robin lifts her head. Instantly, arms are around her, laughs and sobs vibrating against her neck as Morgan shakes much the same way as she does.

Her boy in her arms, feeling the exact same way as the son doe back home, her own arms wind around him. And just for those few seconds, where the warmth of comforting familiarity helps to ease her aching heart, Robin smiles honestly and pulls Morgan close to her.

Until she opens her eyes to hair of orange.

"Mama, I can't believe you're here! Just wait until I tell father! We've.."

Robin hushes him gently, ducking her head so that he can't see the pain in her eyes.

"Mama? What's wrong? You're not hurt are you?

Her head continue to point to the ground, the small shake of her head the only indication she has even heard him. She takes a deep breath, releasing it through her mouth. Enough tears have been shed for today and so she lifts her head to face Morgan. His face is tight with worry; mouth pulled into a frown and a crease forming between his eyebrows. She watches his eyes flick between hers, analysing her features for any clues and notices his mouth twist further into its grimace.

Robin blinks her eyes furiously. No biting of his lip, no slight quirk to his head as he thinks. The absence of Chrom in his features was to be expected, but the lack of habits she thinks of as her own is startling.

In the days at the castle, her schedule cleared to spend her day with little Lucina, it was then her head tilt had become a more permanent trait. The daughter of an army commander and tactician, it had been little wonder than Lucina was as bright as she was. But even with such alertness, it had come to a surprise to both her parents when she began to mimic them. Each small hum or laugh was echoed by a little voice. Every swing of Falchion was followed with a shake of her own little fists.

And every tilt of her mother's head was mirrored with one of her own.

Chrom had been the first to notice how daughter would copy mother, laughing that she too, should have the name of a bird given her resemblance to one. From thereon, every time Robin had titled her head in a strategic meeting, no matter how serious or lost in thought, a smile would rise inadvertently to her lips. Passing a glance to her husband, he too would share the same smile, both reminded of their baby girl.

She almost wonders why this Morgan doesn't show such a trait, and is instantly reminded of the answer just by looking at his hair. Of course. Lucina isn't her daughter here. The reminder of how far she is from home pierces her heart once more.

Morgan continues to look at her, and though it is a welcome sight to see his inquisitiveness has not lost across the realms, nostalgia hits her hard.

"Oh Morgan," she begins, lifting her hand so that she can push his hood back fully and can't help but think that blue hair suits him so much better. "I'm not the Robin you think I am."

Morgan blinks. "But… What? I don't understand, Mother."

Robin smiles sadly at him, not exactly understanding herself either. But still she sits all the same, explaining what she can without mention of her own theories of where his mother is, and answering whichever questions Morgan asks. When she is done, finishing with her plans to find an answer, but deliberately omitting her quest to find Naga for having one tag-along is enough, Morgan sits silently.

Eventually, when some of the confusion has lifted from his face, a worry takes its place instead. "So you don't know where this realm's Robin is?" he asks and at her shake of no, his eyes drop to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Morgan. If I'm being truthful, I had hoped to avoid meeting you," Robin says honestly. She regrets having left the inn so early, believing that the hours long before sunrise would be void of anyone. In her telling of her arrival, Morgan had told her of how he knew she was here, and for that she can only curse her own ineptitude. She had thought herself wise refusing to head deeper into Ylisse's capital, but not wise enough apparently.

"Because you didn't want to give me false hope." He nods, understanding, but still his face crumples.

"I think it cruel to sit here with the face of the mother you know, but with none of the memories she has with you."

Morgan nods again and his hands stir restlessly, clasping together and apart over and over again. When his head lifts so that his eyes can meet hers, tears have flooded the brown orbs, but a smile is rising on his mouth. "In a way though, you're still my mother. Sure, you don't have the memories, but that's never been a great area for the either of us, has it?"

Robin chuckles. "You're right, and in that way, even without truly knowing you, I can't deny the love I have for you. Every Robin is lucky to have a son like you, Morgan." She reaches out to ruffle his hair and laughs when he immediately ducks away from her.

"You're just as bad as my actual mother!" Morgan protests, leaning back and watching her hands cautiously. But just as quickly as the moment of levity comes, it drops away to reveal the longing under his tone. With a wistful glance at Robin, in a whisper he asks, "She is out there, right? Just waiting for us to find her."

Robin bites back her frown, reminded of her own speculations earlier. She doesn't have the heart to tell him what her own grim thoughts are, but she doesn't feel the same gut affirming clench when trying to be positive. Her gaze falls to the boy sat before her. With his tactical prowess and endless perseverance, it is sometimes too easy to forget he is only a boy. One who's longing for his mother's presence can only be eased by the hope of finding her again. "I'd like to think that she is."

Morgan smiles, and perhaps it is the light of dawn beginning to break the clouds, but it appears brighter now than it had before. His own eyes move so that they can look to the sky, noting the stream of light that reflect off buildings as Robin does too. Chrom will be waiting for her, the time of pre-dawn now having long left to make way for the greetings of a new day.

Robin stands, shaking her coat free from the ground's dust. Perhaps he will think she had already left. She can't say whether the thought is welcoming or not.

"Um… Mo… Erm, Robin?"

She turns to Morgan, finding something endearing about the way the toe of his boot kicks at the ground absently. "I realise you're not my mother and that you don't want to be here, but well can I…"

Robin pulls him into her arms before he can say anything else, pressing her face to the top of his head. His hands cling onto her so tightly that she can feel her ribs be compressed together, but she doesn't even think about telling him so. Instead, she presses a firm kiss to his crown and gently makes comforting sounds.

It's Morgan who pulls away first and using his sleeve, wipes his face. It's a relief to Robin to see the small smile that tugs his mouth. He begins to turn away, continuing to look at her over his shoulder. "I guess I ought to get looking huh?"

"Maybe, or maybe let her come find you. There's a life waiting for you outside of waiting, Morgan. Even if her whereabouts are unknown, you can be sure that your mother loves you dearly." She smiles, wondering. "As I'm sure a certain manakete does too."

"Wait, how do you know about Nah?!" he says with a blush.

Robin laughs. "I didn't. But if you are like my own Morgan, it never would have been anyone else."

Morgan shakes his head and with a bemused chuckle, says, "Yep, definitely as bad as my mother is."

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**As always, thank you so much for reading. **


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